


Behind Those Walls That Won't Come Down

by ParadiseDesdemona



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Artist Derek, Boss/Employee Relationship, College Student Stiles, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Sterek Reverse Bang 2017, Their friends meddle way too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseDesdemona/pseuds/ParadiseDesdemona
Summary: Stiles knew it would be hard, coming back to Beacon Hills, seeing the man that broke his heart. Maybe he should have stayed in New York. Maybe he should have never left in the first place...





	Behind Those Walls That Won't Come Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray back into writing. It was so much fun to do and I can't thank the artist enough for her inspirational playlist! She's http://veste4-buckme.tumblr.com/ over on tumblr. Also a huge thank you to her for being one of my betas. She and Midori_Swann were absolute life savers whilst I was trying to make this coherent.
> 
> Title comes from More Things To Say by Boyce Avenue.

              Stiles came back to Beacon Hills on a Wednesday in May. It was raining, and cold in a way that made him think the east coast was following him back to California on a mission. Bad weather could suck it, though, because Stiles hadn’t seen his best friend since August, and Scott planned a welcome home dinner that involved his mother’s tamales. It was supposed to be a surprise, but his dad got stuck at work late and no one else could pick him up from the airport.

              It was fine, he could roll with it. Rental cars were a thing. It gave him time to stop by the liquor store and pick up a bottle of wine, like an _adult_ going to a _dinner party_. Stiles expected good conversation and reminiscing and _adulty_ things. What he got was a face full of blonde curls and his ass hitting the ground hard.

              “Batman, finally! Rescue me already.”

              Stiles did his best to give Erica half og a hug while making sure the wine was still intact. “Since when do you need saving?”

              Erica sat back on her heels and shot a dirty look over her shoulder. “Since the Halebeast put me on table duty and complained I was organizing the plates wrong.”

              “I can hear you!” Laura shouted from the dining room. “And this shindig wasn’t my idea. I refuse to do everything myself.

              “Not only was this not my idea, it isn’t even my apartment,” Erica argued back.

              “Hey, where’s the love here? I feel so welcome,” Stiles faked a wounded look and slapped his hand over his heart.

              Erica rolled her eyes and slapped his shoulder. “Welcome back, jackass. Now come help me set the table.”

              “Let me say hi to Scott first, where—,”

              “Kitchen,” Erica pointed.

              Stiles climbed to his feet and bounded in the direction Erica indicated. “Bro, you left me to the she wolves.”

              “I’m sorry man, this is delicate work, and Laura said she was going to be a gracious hostess.” He pulled a foil covered pan out of the oven and set it on the stovetop.

              Stiles snorted at anyone referring to Laura as gracious, and tried to sneak a look under the foil. Stiles didn’t get many home cooked meals in New York. Well, no, he _did_ —but it was usually ramen or something he could shove in the microwave and eat quickly before crashing for the night. He didn’t do small dinner parties with friends, where the chandelier was made of Christmas lights and the table was a worn wooden door repurposed to seat six. He appreciated it, though. The people, the ambiance. Scott and Laura’s apartment was small, and it was full of found things, but it was cozy and warm and artistic. Bohemian, he thought.

              “Silverware?” Erica popped her head in to ask, and Scott pointed at a drawer in the armoire-turned-hutch. “Stiles, make yourself useful.”

              “I’m always useful,” Stiles bantered back, but did as he was asked.

              “That true?” Laura questioned, and it took a minute for Stiles to realize she was talking to Scott.

              “Always,” Scott smiled, like the excellent best friend he was. Somewhere in the span of time it took Stiles to cross the dining room Laura had corralled Erica into folding napkins into triangles and slipping them beside each plate.

              “Plates,” Laura shoved a stack of them in Stiles’ hands and shooed him towards the table. Stiles counted them out while he set them next to Erica’s napkins.

              “Is Boyd coming?” Stiles asked. He reached the end of the table, and stared down at his work. Five plates.

              “He’s working tonight,” Erica said, moving around him with the silverware. She looked down at the fifth plate as well. “Huh.”

              “Scott, is someone else coming tonight?” Stiles called.

              “Uh…,” came the answer from behind them as Scott emerged from the kitchen.

              There was a knock at the door and Laura, who had been oddly silent, made a break for it. She came back a moment later.

              With _Derek_.

              “Hey,” Derek said, voice tentative, like he had any right to be. Still, it sounded just like Stiles remembered, like he had spent months trying to forget.

              “Dude,” Stiles rounded on Scott, hurt. “Not cool.”

              “I’m sorry,” Scott tried, “I--,”

              “No, I’m out.” Stiles cut him off. He couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t be there, not with Derek.

              He ignored Erica’s protests, Laura’s calling his name. He ignored the way Derek’s eyes followed him to the door. He grabbed the wine from where he’d left it on his way out, thinking he may need to stop for something stronger on the way back to his dad’s house. If this was any indication of what his time back in town was going to be like, he was going to fucking need it.

***

_They met because Stiles was desperate. He was fresh out of college with no job prospects, laughably underfunded for graduate school, and unwilling to mooch off of his father for any longer than necessary._

_“I know someone who’s hiring,” Laura Hale told him while he was lamenting his job search woes to his dad over lunch at the station a week after he moved home._

_Laura was a great deputy, but Stiles should have known better than to take job advice from someone whose idea of a good day at work involved getting to use her taser._

_The address Laura gave him was a warehouse that bordered the river on one side and the old train station on the other. For a solid minute Stiles thought she was just fucking with him, but there was a black Camaro parked out front, so he figured he must be in the right place. He was back to the fucking with him train of thought when he took the elevator up past the first three floors and saw nothing but open, empty space. Laura said her brother, Derek, was an artist looking for an assistant. Someone to run errands, answer calls and emails, play go between with Derek’s agent. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d take what he could get._

_The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and the inside gate was already open. Stiles took two steps into the space and understood why Laura’s brother had picked it. It looked lived in, unlike the other floors, and well lit. There were canvases as tall as Stiles lined against the far wall. In the center of the room, brushing color onto another massive canvas, stood a god. Tan skin, artful stubble, dark hair, and shirtless torso on display._

_“ Uh…” Stiles stammered. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to get Derek’s attention, or form a coherent sentence that involved an indecent proposition._

_Derek’s eyes snapped up and he frowned over at Stiles. “Who are you?”_

_“Stiles Stilinski,” he managed to say. He was still working on getting past the gloriously sculpted abs covered in paint. “Laura said you’d be expecting me for a job interview.”_

_“Right,” Derek huffed. “The spastic sheriff’s kid who can’t get a job.”_

_And Stiles was over it. “I’m the recent college graduate saving up for grad school, but semantics, right?”_

_Derek ignored him. “Give me your phone.”_

_“Why?”_

_Rolling his eyes, Derek snapped his fingers impatiently. “It’s part of the interview.”_

_Stiles handed Derek his phone and waited while he scrolled through it. Dude was out of luck if he was looking for anything incriminating. A minute later he handed it back to Stiles. “You’re hired.”_

_Stiles blinked. “What, that’s it?”_

_“Your taste in music doesn’t suck,” Derek shrugged, like that made any sense._

_“Dude, don’t you want to know if I’m remotely qualified?”_

_Derek huffed again. “Fine, can you type?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Can you drive?”_

_“I got myself here, didn’t I?”_

_Derek rolled his eyes again. He grabbed a scrap of paper off the cart by his easel and wrote a number down in pencil. “Does this rate work for you?”_

_“ A week?” Stiles asked. It was better than he was expecting._

_“A day.”_

_“When the hell do I start?”_

*** 

              Stiles didn’t stay in New York for the summer because it was crazy expensive, and the class he was had to TA was online. He worked it out with his advisor so that he could work from California, spend some time with his dad, and save what little money he was making for important things, like rent for the _actual_ school year. That was the only reason he was back in Beacon Hills.

              It definitely had nothing to do with Derek Hale.

              He was halfway through marking participation grades for the class’s first discussion board when Scott texted for the fourth time, apologizing for blindsiding Stiles. Stiles was a good bro, so he’d already put Scott out of his misery and forgiven him, but Scott had a guilt complex the size of a whale shark and wouldn’t stop until he was sure Stiles wasn’t still pissed.

              Stiles totally was…. just… maybe not completely pissed at Scott.

              Possibly he was a little mad at himself for thinking that he could be back in the same town as his ex boyfriend and never run into him at all. Or maybe he was pissed for assuming his best friend dating said ex’s sister meant they wouldn’t pull something shitty like what happened at dinner at least once. He wasn’t used to such naïve thoughts. Especially ones he shouldn’t be dwelling on while he still had work to do.

              Two more graded discussions later and a knock on his window distracted him. Erica waved manicured nails at him from the other side of the glass, sliding it open with a smirk and climbing in with more grace than anyone in four inch heels should have.

              “Christ, Catwoman, you know the front door is a thing that exists, right?”

              “You should be used to this by now,” she waved him off and collapsed next to him on his bed. Stiles gave her a full five seconds of silence before she blinked over at him and frowned. “I didn’t know he was going to be there.”

              “I don’t want to talk about Derek,” he said automatically, then sighed. “And I figured you didn’t.”

              They lapsed into silence, Stiles going back to his grading while Erica plucked at the frays on the knees of her jeans. She lasted another thirty seconds before she tilted her head to look at his screen. “What are you doing?”

              “Working.”

              Erica groaned. “Don’t talk to me about work. I’ve been job hunting for two months. Do you know what it’s like trying to find work in this town with a liberal arts degree and no relevant work experience?”

              “Weren’t you lined up for a job at that outlet store on Pine?” Stiles gave up on what he was doing, shutting his laptop.

              “Yeah, and then they announced they were _closing_ two days before I was supposed to start. Now I’m living off my savings and the good graces of my perfect boyfriend until I can find something else.”

              “That sucks.”

              “Tell me about it,” she sighed. “Adulting is hard.”

              Stiles snorted. “Apparently so is grammar, for you.”

              Erica whacked him. “I’m not taking speaking advice from someone whose vocabulary is sixty percent gesticulating and forty percent ‘dude’. Now shut up and play Mario Kart with me.”

              “Fine,” Stiles relented easily. “But I’m Peach and we’re starting with Rainbow Road.”

              “Sadist.”

              Stiles got up to get the game ready, and he could feel Erica’s eyes on the back of his neck.

              “Hey Stiles?”

              “Yeah?”

              “You know you’re one of my closest friends, right?”

              “Since you accidentally climbed through my window for the first time in the eighth grade.”

              Erica smiled fondly and took the controller he handed her. “If you _do_ want to talk about certain surly-eyebrowed individuals, I’m here.”

              Stiles smiled back. “I know.”

              “Good,” Erica nodded back. “Now let me kick your ass so I can forget feeling bad about being jobless.”

              “Never gonna happen, Reyes.”

***

_It wasn’t an easy job. Derek was_ demanding _._

_Four o’clock in the morning lugging gallon jugs of Gatorade across the parking lot in gloveless, freezing hands kind of demanding. Stiles’ pajama pants were tucked into his boots, and the wind that whistled through the gaps between the warehouses made his face raw and red. Not for the first time, Stiles was reconsidering the life choices that led him to bullshit moments like this._

_When he made it inside, he took the long moment it took the elevator to rise to close his eyes and pretend he was back home, in bed, like normal people were at this particular hour. Not that he was ever normal, but still… it was the principle._

_When the elevator jerked to a stop, he kicked at the gate and called out into the loft. “Derek! Come let me in!”_

_“You have a key,” came a muffled reply from the depths of the darkness._

_Stiles sighed and thumped his head against the bars. It was going to be one of those days. It figured. If there was one thing Stiles learned about the creatively inclined, it was how often they could be temperamental, petulant children. “I also have your Gatorade, so if you want it, I suggest you come get it!”_

_There was a rustling, and then what sounded like the wooden handle of a brush skittering across the floor, and then Derek was stomping his way across the loft, shirtless and covered in some shade of unnatural green paint. He turned the key to lift the gate, gave Stiles a quick once-over with his annoyingly perceptive eyes, and grunted, “You look like shit.”_

_“Gee, thanks,” Stiles huffed. He relinquished one of the jugs when Derek reached for it and followed him straight back to the studio. “You woke me up to get you Gatorade. You’re lucky I’m wearing clothes, Hale.”_

_“Batman pajamas aren’t clothes,” Derek countered, and Stiles was surprised he even managed a response._

_He was already picking up his discarded paintbrush and moving to stand in front of the canvas he was working on—a ten by ten that Stiles had seen him staring at for a week before he ever made a move to start the piece. With one hand he was twisting the cap off the Gatorade, and Stiles was ninety percent sure he wasn’t planning on using a cup. Or if he was, it was the one currently holding a handful of paintbrushes that were waiting to be cleaned, right next to the untouched plate of food Stiles had made him for dinner before he left for the day. Sighing, Stiles took the unopened jug to the kitchen and put it in the fridge, then reached for the lunch meat in the deli drawer._

_He fixed another sandwich, slid it onto Derek’s cart, and pulled the paintbrush from his hand. “Eat something. That sandwich has been sitting there since I left.”_

_“I was getting to it,” Derek frowned. He reached for the older plate of food and Stiles slapped his hand._

_“No it's rancid now, eat the new one.”_

_“Maybe you should make food that doesn't go bad so fast.”_

_“Everything goes bad if you leave it out for twelve hours,” Stiles pointed out._

_“Not the chips,” Derek argued._

_“Chips get stale. Now shut up and eat.”_

_Derek raised a brow. “Are you going to have one?”_

_“No, I ate at dinner time, you know, you were there. It was when I made you the first damn sandwich.”_

_“Oh. Well... thank you,” Derek muttered._

_Stiles rolled his eyes. “Thank me by eating when I make it for you, or I'm quitting.”_

_“ Liar.” Derek smirked._

_“Shut up. Finish your chips.”_

***

              There is only so much sitting around the house Stiles can do before he gets antsy and needs to _do_ something. By Friday he’s caught up on all the work he could and in desperate need of something to occupy at least a small slice of time while he’s not sitting around watching Netflix on his laptop. He decided to take his dad lunch at work because it’s been a few days since the old man was around for a meal, and Stiles liked to check in. He grabbed sandwiches from the deli on Main, whole wheat turkey with extra spinach for his dad, a meatball sub for himself, and drove down to the station.

              Of course when he got there, the first person he ran into was Laura. She was at her car, and Stiles hoped for a moment she wouldn’t see him, but she chose just the right moment to lift her head and caught him before he could make a break for the building. She slammed her door and called his name, jogging over.

              “Laura, hey,” he said awkwardly. He hadn’t seen her since dinner that first night, and even though Scott had passed along her apologies, Stiles didn’t really know what to say. “Are you just starting your shift?”

              “Ending.” Laura had her keys in her hands, passing them back and forth like she was nervous, and for all the time he’d known Laura, that was the first time he’d seen her look anything other than perfectly in control. “Do you mind… can we talk for a minute?”

              Stiles waved his sandwich bag, the flimsiest of excuses. “I really have to…”

              “Only a minute,” Laura assured him. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the other night, in person. I shouldn’t have tried to meddle, and I shouldn’t have dragged Scott into it.”

              “I appreciate the apology,” Stiles nodded, because it was the most diplomatic thing he could think of.

              “It’s just…,” she continued, “Derek hasn’t been in a good place since you left, and I’m worried about him. He misses you.”

              So much for not meddling.

              “That’s not really my problem anymore,” Stiles said stiffly. “I’ve got to get these to my dad.”

              He didn’t feel bad for leaving Laura standing there. He didn’t feel bad about Derek, either, even if what Laura said was true. Honestly, Stiles found it hard to believe. How could anyone miss something that never meant anything to begin with?

***

_Stiles never expected to like Derek. The dude was broody, impossibly stubborn, and insanely argumentative, despite the fact that he didn’t speak much on the best of days. Except…_

_Except when he was relaxed… two good hours of painting in, the light in the loft just right, a playlist he pilfered from Stiles playing in the background. He would grin over at Stiles where he sat reading e-mails out loud—the more entertaining ones Derek received from his groupies, because artists had those, apparently._

_Or some nights, the late ones where Stiles still had work to do and would crash on Derek’s couch, and Derek would take a break from his work and they would order pizza and watch Netflix while Stiles replied to client requests. Derek liked comedies best, who knew? Stiles did. He got to be there, sharing space with Derek while he laughed…made jokes… teased Stiles for his love of comic book movies, but appreciated his fondness for actual comics._

_Watching Derek in his own world, though, surrounded by art… Stiles loved that._

_They were standing in a room painted with rainbows… Stiles was fascinated by the way light caught the stained glass and reflected colorful patterns against the walls of the barn and across the floor. “It’s beautiful,” he said, almost to himself._

_“Yeah,” Derek smiled. “Kira’s got serious talent, if you’re into this sort of thing.”_

_“Who isn’t into this sort of thing?” Kira argued playfully. She flicked the tip of her blowtorch at him and Stiles took an instinctive step back before she decided to light it. “I’ve seen what you paint, Hale. No way you’re going to talk to me about niche art.”_

_Derek rolled his eyes and snatched the blowtorch from her hand, placing it safely back on her work bench. “Tell me again why I came halfway across the country to see you?”_

_“Because your friend Lydia is manipulative and pushy. I like her. And never tell her I said that.” Kira turned back to her work. “You can have one piece for the gallery. Only because you went through the trouble of coming to see me.”_

_Derek raised a brow. “And what do I get for coming all the way out here?”_

_“You get a hug. And possibly dinner, depending on how quick I can get this welded. How about you and your friend go pick something out while I finish?” She pulled her helmet down and lit the blowtorch._

_Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled him out of the barn. “I’d like to once again remind you that this is all your fault. If she kills us and constructs our bodies into statues, you’re responsible.”_

_Stiles rolled his eyes. “We’ve been here ten minutes and even I can tell that girl is made of actual sunshine. I think I like her better than you.”               “Of course you do,” Derek grumbled. Then he let go of Stiles’ hand so he could wander._

_Really, Kira’s work was impressive. Stiles could understand why Lydia wanted it so much. The larger stuff was mostly abstract welded metal interspersed with some sort of recognizable focal point, like an old record player or a dining room chair. The smaller stuff was more vibrant… that was the stained glass and copper coils and painted stone. It was going to be hard to pick just one. Besides, Stiles didn’t really know what sort of piece Lydia was looking for. The show was an ‘up and coming artist’ sort of thing, so it wasn’t really a theme. Stiles hadn’t seen any other pieces in the exhibit, either, so he had nothing to go on. He was so out of his depth here._

_Derek wasn’t. He had that look in his eyes, the critical, thoughtful one he got when he was picking art apart in his mind. He ducked between sculptures and circled each piece, studying it. Stiles watched Derek more than he watched the art. He knew which view he preferred._

_“What do you think?” Derek asked after quite a while. He’d pointed out several pieces to Stiles, but nothing really stood out._

_“I think Lydia trusts your judgment,” Stiles shrugged. It was getting late. The sun was starting to set behind the hills._

_“Liar.” Derek sidled up and tugged at a loose thread in Stiles sweatshirt. “I’m an asshole, overcritical, and a perfectionist. You’ve got fresh eyes… a neutral perspective. So look around and tell me what speaks to you, not what you think Lydia wants to see.”_

_“To be honest, there’s only one work of art here that speaks to me.” Stiles didn’t know why he said it. It was stupid, and cheesy, and way out of line. He froze, mind racing with a way to backtrack, to apologize, when Derek leaned in and pressed their lips together in some amalgamation of a kiss. It was warm and wet and perfect in a way Stiles never would have expected… because he never imagined it would happen at all._

_When Derek finally pulled away, the light in his eyes looked brighter than any of Kira’s stained glass._

_***_

              “You better come and see me Stilinski, you’ve been home a week and I have yet to merit an afternoon of your time.”

              “I called three times! Your secretary said you were organizing an exhibition and couldn’t be reached.”

              “And here I thought you were avoiding me. You’ll come see me today and we’ll catch up. Meet me at the gallery at one, and bring Erica.”

              The click on the other end of the phone was curt and decisive, just like everything else about Lydia Martin. That’s what Stiles got for consorting with women who could eat him alive. Still, at one o’clock, with Erica happily in tow, Stiles showed up to the Martin gallery space downtown and was greeted by the redhead herself with a peck to the cheek and a swat to the back of the head.

              “What was that for?” He whined, clutching his skull while Erica snickered.

              “Lack of communication. I didn’t know you were back for the summer until Erica and I had lunch on Monday. I do _not_ appreciate being left out of the loop.”

              “I told you I called--,”

              Lydia rolled her eyes. “You should have tried harder.”

              “I missed you too,” Stiles smiled.

              “As you should,” Lydia nodded. She linked her arm through his and guided him to the back of the building. “Come on, I have a bottle of wine breathing in my office.”

              “I thought day drinking was my job?” Erica fell into step beside them, sinking into the elegant chaise in Lydia’s office as soon as they crossed the threshold.

              “That’s why you’re here.” Lydia poured the wine and Stiles stole a seat next to Erica. “So Stiles, tell me about New York.”

              “It’s great,” Stiles shrugged. “Loud, busy, businesses stay open past eight o’clock.”

              “Your analysis is spectacular,” Erica rolled her eyes. “I think what Lydia wants to know is if you’ve found a hot guy to screw around with.”

              “Seriously?” Stiles elbowed her.

              “Or girl,” Lydia amended. “We’re not picky here.”

              Stiles downed his wine in one gulp and got up to pour himself another glass. If this was an ambush, he was going to need it. “Did you guys rehearse this?”

              “No,” Erica had the decency to feign insult. “There’s genuine curiosity here… and maybe a little concern.”

              Stiles sighed. “I went on a few dates. Nothing serious… nothing that had potential. I was so busy with school work and my TA job anyway, it just wasn’t a good time.”

              “Of course,” Lydia nodded. “And it had nothing to do with--,”

              “Don’t say Derek,” Stiles warned.

              Lydia held up her hands. “I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything, I just want to know what happened. You never really talked about it, and then you _left_. You can’t blame me for wondering.”

              “He and I wanted different things, that’s it.” It was an oversimplification, but it was better than hashing it out again, like everyone had been trying to make him do since he’d been back. He pursed his lips, ready for a rebuttal, when Lydia sat down at his other side and nudged his shoulder.

              “I can’t imagine being back here is easy,” she said.

              “Not when every person I know keeps bringing up _Derek_ ,” Stiles snapped, then frowned apologetically.

              It wasn’t fair to take it out on his friends. If he was honest with himself, Derek had been on his mind more and more since he got home, and it had nothing to do with his friends’ antics. For a long time, Derek was a big part of his life… when it ended, Stiles hadn’t wanted to let that go. When he went to New York, he tried to move on, but he didn’t have it in him to let Derek go, not so quickly… even though Derek was the one who ended it. Derek was the one who said it didn’t mean anything. So yes, Stiles was hurt. He was bitter, and angry, and trying to _forget_. But he also couldn’t stop _remembering._

“He was the one who broke up with _me_ ,” Stiles said carefully. “I’m still pissed about it, but at the same time I… I don’t know. I miss him, maybe? We were good together, so good. And maybe I can’t figure out what’s worse, the fact that it’s over, or the fact that it ever happened to begin with. It’s like a bad dream… or a bad decision. I don’t know.”

              “You fell in love with an artist who happens to be your boss. That’s like a double high score in bad decision making,” Erica pointed out unhelpfully.

              “It’s not like I expected it to happen,” Stiles argued. “He’s kind an asshole.”

              “Which makes him your type,” Erica patted his shoulder. “That explains so much.”

              “I’m sorry he hurt you,” Lydia said seriously. “For what it’s worth, I thought you guys were going to work out.”

              “So did I,” Stiles shook his head. He really did.

 ***

_It took six months for Stiles to convince Derek to update his furniture. He started with the kitchen, because a card table was not a dinette set, and the mismatched barstools in front of the island didn’t even reach the counter. They weren’t living together, not officially, but there was a section of Derek’s closet made up entirely of plaid and hoodies, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually spent a night at home._

_It felt domestic… comfortable. If Derek minded, he didn’t say anything. He let Stiles make changes around the loft, and sometimes he even helped. Sort of. They were browsing furniture websites over lunch one day when Stiles saw a massive sectional couch that pulled together to form a bed. All the reviews raved about how comfortable it was, and that was all Stiles needed to hear._

_“You’re buying that couch,” he said, stealing a chip off of Derek’s plate._

_Derek bit into his sandwich and grimaced. “Why?”_

_“Because it’s glorious and bed like and the monstrosity currently sitting in your living room hurts my spine when I sleep on it. You’re buying it.”_

_“We have a perfectly good bed,” Derek pointed out._

_“Please?” Stiles pouted. He knew he didn’t have to try that hard._

_That was good enough for Derek. “Okay, what color?”_

_“Red.”_

_“It doesn’t come in red.”_

_“Then white, but get that stain seal stuff to put on it, you know how you are with coffee.”_

_Derek nodded and pulled out his credit card._

_When it came in two weeks later, Stiles pushed all the pieces together and collapsed into it. “It’s so comfortable!”_

_“Not as comfortable as our bed,” Derek sighed._

_“Yeah, but when I start my grad school applications I’m gonna need somewhere to pass out from the stress that won’t require me waking up certain grumpy people up,” Stiles teased._

_Derek frowned, staring at Stiles for a moment in a way Stiles couldn’t read. “I’ve got to get back to work.”_

***

              Stiles worked. He hung out with Scott, made dinner with his dad on the nights he wasn’t at the station. He helped Erica job hunt, went shopping with Lydia, and did all of the things he’d expected to do when he was home. It didn’t feel right, though. Not since that day at the gallery with Lydia and Erica. Admitting it out loud… that stuff about he and Derek, it was like a catalyst. Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about how much it hurt. Christ, he hadn’t even seen Derek since that night at Scott and Laura’s and he couldn’t make the memories stop coming, couldn’t get over how much he wished things had worked out differently.

              He’d been in town three weeks when he decided he couldn’t survive the summer like that. He tried, but it was a bad idea from the start. If he went back to New York, it would be like another clean break… he wouldn’t have meddling friends, or all that history hanging over his head. He could do it, he decided. This time he would move on.

              He told Lydia first, because he didn’t need another blow to the head if someone else decided to pass along the news before he got a chance.

              “At least stay until the weekend,” she asked. “The exhibition opens on Friday and I need a date that I actually like.”

              “Fine,” Stiles agreed. That would give him time to get his stuff together and work out a plan for New York.

              It was going to be good for him, he decided. Better than coming back to Beacon Hills to begin with.

_“Stiles! Are you going to answer the phone?”_

_“Give me a second!” Stiles yelled, stumbling out of the elevator, his arms full of bags. Derek sent him to three different stores for supplies that Stiles was pretty sure he’d just stocked up on the week before, and they weren’t exactly the lightest of things to carry._

_The desk phone Derek kept for business was ringing, and Stiles had to drop everything by the door to stumble over to it before the answering machine picked up. He made it two steps from the desk when it stopped, and Stiles sighed in defeat. He let the message record before pressing play and jotting down the details so he could return the call. Derek, unfazed, sauntered over to the bags Stiles dropped and rifled through one of them._

_“I asked you to get angular brushes, these are flat.”_

_“I did get angular, they’re in the other bag.” Stiles still had the phone to his ear, listening to the two other messages he missed while he was out. Derek’s agent found a buyer for a piece they were looking to move and needed to talk numbers. A client wanted to see if he could commission a work. Stiles added them to the list of callbacks he needed to make._

_“They’re not here,” Derek said testily. “You have to go back to the store.”_

_“Dude, you didn’t even look in the other bags,” Stiles replied. He didn’t know what Derek’s problem was, but he’d had this snippy, douchebaggish attitude for weeks and Stiles was getting tired of it. They fought sometimes, sure, but they usually kept the personal out of the professional side of their relationship. Lately though, it seemed to bleed over, and Stiles didn’t know whether he was more irritated with his boyfriend of his boss at the moment._

_“Don’t call me dude, and come show me if you’re so sure.”_

_Stiles waved his hand at the phone at his ear. “A little busy here.”_

_“Hang up!”_

_“Fine!” Stiles snapped, slamming the phone down. “What the fuck is your problem, Derek?”_

_“I don’t have a problem,” Derek snapped back. “Except that I asked you to get something, and you didn’t.”_

_“Bullshit,” Stiles stomped over and rifled through the bags. When he found the brushes, he threw them at Derek. “There, all you had to do was look. Now maybe you could stop being an ass for a little while and let me get some work done.”_

_Derek glared. “Maybe if you worried less about your grad school applications and more about your actual job that wouldn’t be a problem.”_

_“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”_

_“Nothing,” Derek took the brushes and went back to his canvas._

_Stiles followed. He wasn’t going to let that one go, not with how much of a dick Derek had been. “No, fucking say it, Derek. You’ve been running me into the ground for weeks, so I mean it, what is your malfunction?”_

_“I didn’t realize making you do the job I pay you for qualifies as a malfunction,” Derek said flatly._

_“It doesn’t, but you’ve been a douche off the clock too.”_

_“Maybe that’s the problem,” Derek seethed. “Maybe it was a mistake to date someone I’m employing. Clearly we can’t keep the two separate.”_

_“Fine,” Stiles through up his arms. “I quit. Happy? You would have needed to find a new assistant when I started grad school anyway. Now can we please talk about what the hell is going on with you?”_

_Derek stared at him, lips pursed. After a moment he spoke, voice chilly. “Maybe it’s not just the professional relationship that needs to end.”_

_Stiles felt like he’d been hit, the air knocked out of him. He stared back at Derek. “So that’s… that’s it?”_

_“Yeah,” Derek shrugged. “That’s it.”_

_***_

              The exhibition was beautiful. Lydia always put together the best shows. Stiles had been to more than a few, and the pieces Lydia acquired always had the most interesting stories. The woman herself had ditched him almost as soon as the doors opened, choosing to mingle with the patrons while Stiles wandered a little and admired the art. Scott and Laura were around somewhere too, he’d seen them come in but hadn’t managed to find them again. Erica was dragging Boyd around to look at the sculptures Lydia had bribed off Kira for the event. Stiles was enjoying himself… and he was glad that his last night in Beacon Hills would at least be a good one.

              “Hey,” Laura sidled up to him, champagne in hand and sans Scott. “I’m glad you’re here. Scott was afraid he wasn’t going to see you before you left.”

              “I’d never leave without seeing him,” Stiles assured her with a smile. “He’d pout and get all puppy-eyed and hurt, and I’d feel guilty.”

              Laura laughed. “True. He was looking for you, I think. He went that way if you want to catch up with him.”

              She pointed to one of the separate viewing rooms that housed collections from singular artists, and Stiles nodded. “Thanks, I’ll find him.”

              He headed into the room, blinking against the change in light. There was someone standing in the middle of the room, but it was too tall to be Scott. He took a few more steps in. Somewhere behind him he heard the slide of a gate and the click of a lock, and he cursed under his breath when he realized what was happening a moment too late.  

              The room was dim, the gate was locked, and not for the first time Stiles wished he’d never met Laura Hale. He was quiet, another first, and he gave serious consideration to pulling the fire alarm as an exit strategy. It would be worth the class one misdemeanor to avoid whatever it was that was about to happen. Derek was staring at him, hands in his pockets, lips a perpetual frown. He looked… tired. Thinner. God dammit, he _never_ _ate_ for days before gallery openings unless someone shoved food in front of his face and— yeah, Stiles had to stop that train of thought. Derek wasn’t his boss anymore. Derek wasn’t his anything.

Not anymore.

              “Say something,” Derek said when the heavy silence started to get uncomfortable.

              “Nice work,” Stiles waved at the walls. It was easier to focus on the paintings… all Derek’s, all pieces he’d never seen. They were beautiful… dark in a way Derek didn’t usually paint. He wondered, briefly, if their mood reflected what Derek had been feeling since Stiles left, then pushed away the notion because it shouldn’t _matter_. “Kudos on bribing whichever friend locked me in here with you. I’ll have to remember to disown them later. Now how about we not do whatever this is… it’s not going to be in any way _good_.”

              Derek flinched and pursed his lips. “I know. I’m not good at anything but… this,” he gestured to the paintings.

              “Certainly not talking,” Stiles grumbled. “What is it supposed to be, an apology?”

              “No… no, I’m not—look, you’re the one who quit,” Derek huffed.

              “Yes,” Stilesnodded. “Because you were an asshat.”

              “Why do people keep calling me that?”

              “Well, for starters—”

              “Stiles, shut up.”

              “That, that right there,” Stiles pointed at him, narrowing his eyes. “That’s why. Are we done here?”

              He moved towards the gate and Derek stepped in front of him, holding up his hands. Stiles considered finding another way out, but Derek looked desperate… sad, even. Panicked. Derek never panicked. “Please just hear me out.”

              Stiles sighed. “Fine.”

              Derek’s shoulders hunched and he dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t do well with change, and I’ve never been good with people. Sometimes I forget, and I let it get the better of me.”

              “How is this relevant?”

              “Let me _finish_ ,” he huffed, then waited to make sure Stiles wouldn’t interrupt again. “When we were together, I was happy. I didn’t expect it… didn’t expect _you_. You’re brilliant—so much smarter than anyone gives you credit for. You’re funny, and you’re pushy, and you’re stubborn and so fucking amazing I just wanted to be around you all the time. I don’t get close to people, you know that. But you… I got close to you. Then you started talking about grad school and applying places around the country and I didn’t know if the plans you were making included _me_. So yeah, I ran you ragged, and yes I ruined things but I thought I was _losing you_ and… I love you. I… just love you.”

              His eyes were closed now, and he looked so broken. Stiles _hated_ that. Hated that he put that look there, and that Derek didn’t know how much Stiles loved him too. “Idiot,” he said softly, pulling at the lapels of Derek’s jacket. “You fucking idiot, why didn’t you _ask_ me? Of course my plans included you. I _love_ you. We would have made it work.”

              “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry,” Derek said desperately. “I wish I would have. I know… I know I don’t have the right to ask you… anything. I just… I needed you to know. If there’s a chance…”

              Stiles knew there would always be a chance. There would always be a them. It was the reason Stiles could never move on, and why being in Beacon Hills was so hard. He was never going to say no to Derek. Stiles pulled Derek in, hands still fisted in his jacket, and kissed him hard and deep and with everything neither of them had been brave enough to say.

              When they broke apart to breathe, Stiles leaned his forehead against Derek’s and closed his eyes. “What now? I mean I have school… I have to go back…”

              Derek shook his head, tugging at Stiles hips until they were pressed together. “I’ll move. I can paint anywhere… I just want us to try.”

              Stiles smiled and reached up to fix his collar where he’d had his hands on it. “Good, glad to hear that. So here’s how it’s gonna go—we’re getting an apartment together in New York, we’re buying a plant, and you should hire Erica as your assistant. She needs a job, and I’m pretty sure she and Boyd would love the east coast.”

              “Deal, but you have to water the plant. And pick out all the furniture.”

              “We’re getting a red couch this time,” Stiles countered.

              Derek kissed him in agreement.


End file.
